


Twice Burned

by Lady_Therion



Series: Once Bitten [2]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV), Safe - Fandom
Genre: Co-Dependent Relationships, F/M, Possessiveness, Vampire Sex, Vampires
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-01
Updated: 2016-08-01
Packaged: 2018-07-28 17:09:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7649347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Therion/pseuds/Lady_Therion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As Belle reveals the dangerous layers of her world, Nosty finds himself on the edge of a dark precipice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Twice Burned

**Author's Note:**

> This is a sequel to Once Bitten which was originally a gift for SkinnyCanuck as part of the 2015 Rumbelle Revelry Exchange. 
> 
> Anyway, Skinny asked some very excellent questions the last time I posted, namely: “Nosty's scars, what does Belle make of them? What exactly is it that draws her to him? Does Nosty question her affection for him? Is he ever afraid of her or vice versa?” 
> 
> Sorry for the long wait, my dear! But as it turns out, I couldn’t answer all that with just a oneshot so I hope you’re all right with a multi-chapter angst train—with complimentary fangs and orgasms.
> 
> Also, many thanks to my beta, MapleSyrup. She is the bee’s knees for making sure that I don’t sound like an idiot. Also, her fics are absolutely wonderful. Go check them out!

 

* * *

_i heard you’re hunting for nothing_

_i heard you caught a disease_

  
-Breathe, Legs Occult

* * *

 

 

The posh fucker sitting in Belle’s parlor sets Nosty’s teeth on edge.

 

He stands at a distance, watching them through Belle’s shop window, wishing he could shatter it with the force of his glare. The patrons of the little French cafe take great pains to walk around him, holding their handbags closer to their bodies as his scowl deepens into something corrosive.

 

It doesn’t help that he’s been muttering under his breath, twitching with every profane curse he purges from his mouth. But he can’t help it: this dark surge of jealousy coursing through his veins, as pure and as mind-altering as any drug.

 

Nosty waits for a sign that this late night visitor isn’t welcome. But Belle walks back and forth with her warm smile and her silver tea tray, like a proper little hostess. He reckons they aren’t strangers, either. No, not from the easy way they exchange laughter, all free and casual-like, as if they’ve known each other for years.

 

Centuries, maybe.

 

It makes him heartsick enough to bite through his bottom lip, the blood seeping down his chin. He lifts a hand to brush it away, then stops. Inside the shop, Belle takes a seat across her guest, crossing those bare smooth legs underneath his favorite pencil skirt. There’s a slight pause before she laughs at something else the posh fucker says, the sweet intimacy making his fists clench.

 

Then she pauses, turns and looks straight at him through the dark. She’s had too much of his blood now. She knows he’s there. All she has to do is beckon him with that red, red smile.

 

And she does.

 

So despite his iron-clad intentions to fuck off, he dashes across the street like the miserable, cuntstruck fucker he is, barely dodging a hackney that comes to a screeching halt, its horn blaring and bleeding into the night.

 

***

 

The little bell rings overheard, announcing his presence.

 

He charges in, hackles raised.

 

Then she sets those blue eyes on him, eyes that remind him of stained glass, ice shards and his own damnation because the tenderness there is both untainted and unbearble.

 

The intensity of it makes tremble in submission.

 

 **_I like the way you shake for me_ ** _, she said once, the silky memory leaving him wanting for days._ **_See what you do?_ ** _Then she took his fingers and pushed them into her aching little cunt..._

 

“Darling,” she says, yanking him into the present. He feels the draw, the pull...the _urge_ to go to her at once. Fall at her feet so she can stroke his hair the way that he likes as he puts his head in her lap.

 

But he doesn’t. He wants her to come to _him_ instead.

 

And he wants that posh fucker to watch.

 

Up close, the posh fucker is all haughty airs, slick, blond hair and an open pea coat that’s even prettier than Belle’s.

 

Belle marches over, her impossible heels clacking as she reaches for his face.

 

“Darling,” she says again, her lovely voice low and deep. She licks at his mouth where the blood has dried, her little pink tongue lapping at him like a bowl of cream. He reddens and burns with relief. “Come here. There’s someone I want you to meet.”

 

Nosty makes her tug him to the parlor where the posh fucker watches the scene with keen interest, like a cat spying a bird from the window. There’s a smugness there too that Nosty does not like.

 

“Sweetheart, this is Victor.” She pats down his arm like a good little stray, and fuck him if that isn’t what he is. “Won’t you say hello?”

 

He nods instead. What else is there for him to do?

 

“I don’t think your pet likes me much,” says Victor. Then he grins, showing all his sharp teeth.

 

Another vampire.

 

“Don’t tease,” says Belle, and Nosty takes grim satisfaction in the dead seriousness of her tone.

 

“I meant no offense,” says Victor. “Nice to meet you.” Nosty is surprised he doesn’t follow this with a condescending phrase like old chap or old sport _._ “Man of few words, eh? No matter. I can see why Belle’s taken a fancy.”

 

Strangely, Belle freezes beside him, as though seized by an unpleasant memory. It lasts for less than a second, but it doesn’t escape Nosty’s notice.

 

“Well I can see myself out,” says Victor, buttoning up his pea coat. “You’ll think about what I said Belle? If you change your mind, give me a ring. For old times’ sake.”

 

He winks and then strides off, the little bell above of the door cheerily announcing his departure.

 

What follows is a silence with a hundred questions strung between them.

 

Jealousy hangs over him like a noose.

 

Belle banishes this with kiss.

 

Then with a bite.

 

Then Nosty is blissfully lost for a little while longer, as Belle draws her teeth back from his neck and leads him upstairs to her bedroom.

 

***

 

This is how they love.

 

Her, sitting on the edge of the bed….and him kneeling before her.

 

The both of them drawn to the other’s craving.

 

 _Blood-drawn_ , Belle calls it.

 

Both of them are naked, panting like savage creatures. Her gorgeous legs splayed wantonly on either side of him. Briefly, Nosty wonders if Belle only breathes out of habit. But all thoughts of her imitation of life vanish when he feels her fingers dig sharply into his hair. Pulling him closer. Burying him deeper in her sweet nest of curls.

 

“Baby…baby…”

 

For him, there is nothing more sacred than this dark ritual. It is the only other way he can drink from her, the way she drinks from him. His arched cock drips at the thought that only _he_ can worship her this way. That she has chosen him and him alone.

 

_But why?_

 

It is a question that’s been dogging him in the dark and dusty corners of his mind. Ever since she claimed him on that cold winter night, when she could have killed him but didn’t.

 

_Why?_

 

Was she just sorry for him then? Is still sorry for him now?

 

Is he just a thrill for her? Like she is for him?

 

_And yet, she’s more than a thrill now, isn’t she? She’s in his body now...a singular part of him...a dark lining around his insides..._

 

The terror of the unknowns fester like open wounds. He can feel it growing, its rawness spreading like an infection. It’s a question that he doesn’t even know how to begin to ask. Because while he finds ectasy in her possession, he finds agony in it too.

 

He cannot seem to have enough of either.

 

Especially when she begins to thrust against him, faster and faster, until she arches and begs him, “Oh love, use your teeth…”

 

He obeys, using the edge of them like she taught him too. Not hard, but enough to contrast with the softness of his tongue as he suckled, and the firmness of his fingers as he eases one (then two, then three) inside her.

 

She gasps, astonished, when he finds her sweet spot.

 

It doesn’t take him long to ruin her after that.

 

When he’s finished chanting his wicked prayer to her cunt, she grabs hold of his shoulders, digging them hard into his flesh before having her way with him.

 

“Stand up, sweetness.”

 

He does, his cock positioned perfectly against her cherry red lips. She gives him a few teasing kisses, like she is tasting her favorite treat, and it only inflames the burning pressure inside him. He can barely speak, his nerves all raw and open.

 

It’s exquisite.

 

“What do you want, sweetness? What do you want?”

 

Then she takes him deep into her mouth, the back of her throat caressing his tip. He cries and curses, the way she hums around him blowing a hole through his mind. His balls tighten and he can feel himself come. The waves washing over him, smothering him, draining him of every feeling and thought except...

 

_“What do you want?”_

 

He wants her…

 

He wants her to tell him _why_ …

 

In the aftermath, there is just him gasping for air. Or trying to. She has stolen all his breath, not to mention his stained and frayed soul.

 

It will be a while before he can piece himself back together.

 

She holds him steady all the while with that eerie, marble-hewn strength of hers, otherwise he would collapse. She nuzzles into the trail of hair above his groin, taking in the scent of him, his sweat, his blood…

 

“Sweetness…” She presses a kiss to his inner thigh. She has bitten him here too. He likes to look at the scars she’s made there.

 

But before he can feel that lovely, obliterating sting, a loud crash from below startles them out of their trance.

 

Belle’s fangs are drawn and he pities the poor shite she’ll set them on.  

 

The kiss she’d give them won’t be as sweet as the ones he gets. That’s for fucking sure.


End file.
